


iridescent

by serotinal



Category: PRISTIN (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-22 08:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12477532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serotinal/pseuds/serotinal
Summary: Nayoung sees a million colours; Minkyung sees Nayoung.





	iridescent

Minkyung tightens the camera strap around her neck, ensuring that when it slings, it doesn’t knock against her chest with every step. Her camera is an old model, the kind that requires actual film instead of digitalised shots and sensors. Minkyung has always known better than to accept any offer of a ‘state-of-the-art’ camera; films gave a more authentic feel, and besides, she liked it this way. Pixel mosaics can never be called _art_ —art is permanent, art is slow, art is dynamic. 

The streets diverged after she left her neighbourhood, stretching into the main roadways. Minkyung skips lightly, her tall frame making it seem like she was bouncing on the balls of her feet instead. Sunshine tickles the nerve endings under her skin, a grin on her face. She reaches up to brush a lock of bang behind her ears, eyelashes catching the intense light. Summer. 

Just as she turns the corner, Minkyung’s eye catches a new shop, humble and cozy-looking, settled neatly within white fences, right in the heart of the crossroad between the edges of Seoul. It was all scruffy road: gravel and open fields, mountains that matched up to the light of the moon and yellow-greens here, but it was what Minkyung always loved. 

The shop is mostly made out of fine, lightly coloured wood, smooth and polished in its design. Past the homemade sign that read a curved, friendly ‘welcome’ was a dark store interior, lights dim but surprisingly not unwelcoming. If anything, like Minkyung first noticed, it looked _cozy._ Minkyung can’t remember another store being in place of this one, but after all she doesn’t walk by here too often; maybe twice a week. And last month she’d been busy with school, so…

Shrugging, Minkyung walks towards the store with a little more of a hop instead of a skip, pushing open the glass doors to the inside. The glass doors jingle with a little tune that's softer than Minkyung would expect. Soft. Everything was homely about this store.

“Welcome,” comes the gentle greeting from inside where a girl was busy rearranging artwork around the room.

—

The girl has her auburn hair tied back in a low ponytail, reaching slightly below her upper back. Her back flexes again and again while she lifts the paintings, brushes and other canvases around the store. Minkyung can't see her face from where she was standing on the welcome mat, but the girl is tall, lithe and _very_ long. She wore a long sleeved shirt, plain and black, normal skinny jeans, and sneakers. Flat-like sneakers. She was beautiful.

Then Minkyung realises the store. 

Everything inside is made out of wood as well, the same light shade that made the outside. Artwork hung on the walls, artwork put on easels around the room, artwork laid in the cupboards for display, artwork sold in the form of cards in plastic slips, settled by the counter, artwork everywhere. Even though the art was everywhere, there was a sense of regularity within it, somehow. Minkyung noticed certain areas of the store to be allocated for art materials instead of just the works—brushes, palettes, drawing block, sketchbooks, pencils, even charcoal. But the artwork was the most special: There were paintings, sketches, animated drawings, postcards.

The room isn’t wide, but it isn’t narrow, either. Just right. Many things about this store were _just right._

Minkyung realises that she’s in love. As a photographer, she wants to drink in the view, take pictures of everything, neatly store them away in films and undeveloped spots of light because art deserves to not be forgotten. The girl included.

“Hey,” Minkyung finally finds her tongue back, “This is beautiful.” 

The girl pauses, and Minkyung watches as she looks up, a small smile on her face. The smile forms a dimple on both cheeks, shallow but still evident. Her skin is a shade darker than most of the people in Minkyung’s town; like honey, like gold. Dark brown irises shine as she looks at Minkyung, as if all that she sees are Minkyung’s words. Her lips are small, and so is her face—Minkyung swears it’s the size of her fist. _She is beautiful._

“Thank you,” The girl mutters, and it’s soft yet again, but there’s a layer of strength underneath.

“Is this your store?” Minkyung grabs at any topic that comes, not wanting the conversation to end.

“Yes,” The girl nods, “I just moved here. Because the rent was cheap.” 

Minkyung laughs at how practical that sounds. “It’s a beautiful store. Are all these yours?” She feels like a broken recorder, ‘beautiful’ the only word in her vocabulary. Minkyung tries not to blame herself, she knows it isn’t her fault that she’s absolutely tongue-tied in front of someone like this. 

The girl nods again, this time stiffer, as if she’s embarrassed; flustered. 

“As in, _you’re the artist_?”

The girl nods for the third time, her cheeks now blushing a little light. 

Minkyung’s jaw almost drops. Then she realises that she hasn't moved a single inch over the welcome mat that she's still standing on, trying to close her mouth. Because if she does, she’ll get nearer to the girl. The shop is just laid out like that; and the girl isn’t moving, as well. She has a hand holding onto a black-and-white sketch of a winter day as she stares pensively at Minkyung, knee-deep in other unsorted drawings and newspaper.

“Can I?” Minkyung gestures to move closer into the store. _What a dumb question._

“Yes,” The girl says quietly again, before placing the sketch down on the propped up shelf, the dullness of the painting contrasting against the beige. “I’m sorry about the mess, I didn’t know anyone would actually—”

Minkyung cuts her off with a smile, “You’re joking, right? Even the mess is artistic.” 

The girl _almost_ rolls her eyes. 

Minkyung moves closer gingerly, stepping over a few canvases, but the floor was mainly covered in newspapers to prevent paint from spilling, Minkyung guesses. There were a few brushes scattered on the ground peeking out from folded newspaper edges. Further into the shop, the mess started to clear up and a cup of hot cocoa sat on the counter, along with painted postcards and an old style cashier. A typewriter sat still, rusty on certain keys, blending into the paperback novels with black covers stacked up beside the cocoa. 

It wasn’t until Minkyung reached the actual back of the store then did she realise there was another door the colour of light umber leading into another room. Minkyung feels her mouth itching to ask, until she realises that she probably shouldn’t. She’s a customer.

“You can go in.” The girl’s voice surprises Minkyung.

“What?”

“You can go in,” She repeats, and before Minkyung knows it she’s before her, long fingers curling around the doorknob and pushing it forward. The door creaks quietly but smoothly, gliding an inch above the wooden floor. 

Minkyung goes in, the girl behind her. In the room sits a baby blue couch with a pull-out bed sticking out halfway, messily arranged white blankets, and _wow,_ so many bookshelves. Stacked with books. They all look secondhand, torn at certain edges, colours fading, but together it was an amazing harmony of colour. A stack of instant noodles in the corner of the chipping honey brown table, a carpet laid out. Boxes are shoved into the other corner, as well as a tiny vanity, where makeup is lain out in an organised manner. There’s a last hallway at the back of the room; and a toilet sign hangs from the ceiling.

“I rest here,” The girl smiles, “sometimes. Home is far.”

“I could live here with you,” Minkyung shakes her head again in disbelief, “I love it.”

The girl laughs, the first laugh of hers that Minkyung has heard. It makes Minkyung a little lightheaded and something beat in her chest, like she can’t believe she’s  _laughing because of her._

Just then, the weight against her torso makes itself known when the girl raises a finger and points at Minkyung’s camera, asking, “Hobby?” 

Minkyung grins, “No. It’s my job. I’m a photographer. Here and there, you know? Freelance photography.” The girl’s mouth forms an ‘O’ shape, and this is when Minkyung discovers that looking into someone’s eyes is a first; her friends ( _Sorry, Yebin_ ) are heads shorter than her. Now, the dark brown irises line themselves level with Minkyung’s and Minkyung thinks she realises why people say eyes are the windows to souls. As Minkyung’s eyes travel down the girl’s front profile, the little gold name tag pinned neatly to the left chest of the girl’s dark-sleeved shirt makes itself known.  _Im Nayoung._

“Nayoung is a pretty name,” Minkyung tries to sound absent-minded. 

“I guess,” Nayoung shrugs, not asking Minkyung for her name in return.

Minkyung turns around and begins to head out of the room back into the main shop, Nayoung close behind. Minkyung looks out the door and realises that the sun is in the midst of setting—She didn’t know she had been here that long; enough for celestial objects to shift from one end to another. 

“I should probably go,” Minkyung says, a little regrettably.

“Right,” Nayoung monotones—Minkyung finds her style of speech awfully intriguing—“I forgot.” 

“It’s okay, me too.” Minkyung smiles, “You’re closing soon, right?” 

She recalls the store sign that read: _Closes at 7pm._

“Yes, but it’s only for until I finish setting up. Then on certain days I plan to close at 10pm so I can rest overnight here. I live further South,” Nayoung explains to a confused-looking Minkyung. Then on certain days she’d be a fifteen minute walk away from Minkyung. Minkyung tries not to let that drum on her imagination too much.

Minkyung tries to drag it on a little more, picking up a small crystallised figure of a cat lying on a rotating glass shelf. “Can I buy this?” 

Nayoung smiles, a little bemused, at Minkyung, “Yeah, it’s discounted. Since you’re my first sale.” 

“I’ll get four,” Minkyung reaches over to pick a few more, “I’ll get these.” 

Minkyung stands, watching as Nayoung skilfully keys in the respective amounts and accepts payment and gives change the way every polite cashier does. 

After Minkyung has a tiny paper bag in her hand and a grin on her face, she steps towards the welcome mat and rests her hand on the door handle, hearing the jingle alike to when she first came in. Little twinkling sounds, like bird chirps and the slight flutter of wings. Nothing more fitting for this store. 

“I’m going then,” Minkyung says, bowing her head slightly.

“Thank you,” Nayoung bows her head too, “Please come again.” 

—

The next time Minkyung goes into the store, it’s fully set up. No more newspapers, no more knee-deep art debris. It’s an actual shop, tidier and more organised. Somehow Minkyung misses the mess.

The sun was already down when Minkyung left the house today. Summer was ending, folding into fall, the days getting shorter. It was only half past six when Minkyung left the house; she was hoping to catch Nayoung after most of the customers were gone.

Nayoung is busy at the counter, tallying up something with her head down and a lock of auburn hair hanging loose from her ponytail. “Welcome,” she says automatically after the jingle, like it’s become a habit. 

“Hey,” Minkyung greets, and Nayoung looks up slowly, a tiny grin on her face. 

“Hello. Have you been in the neighbourhood?” 

Minkyung has on torn, light denim boyfriend jeans today and a sleeveless tank; usual summery loite ring wear. Nayoung has on the same uniform, but her jeans are black, making her entire outfit pure black, except the gold name tag; her boots today are dusty black as well. 

“I have,” Minkyung smiles, gesturing to her smaller digital camera, not the film one from the first day, “do you want to see?” She tries not to act as if she's purposely brought the digital camera along today as well with the purpose of showing Nayoung some of her work. Digital cameras have always leant more towards instant gratification; at least they were useful at certain points in time. 

Nayoung peeks out the door, sees not a single potential customer, and moves closer to Minkyung.

Minkyung clicks the playback option on her camera and colourful pictures appear—they’re of nothing in particular, nothing fancy like festivals or celebrations. Simply the neighbourhood, little things like playgrounds and skyscraper-tall apartment buildings against the cloudless summery sky, nearby graffiti walls. It’s the normality of the mundane scenic beauty that throws Nayoung off; _since when was the world this beautiful?_

_Wow_ is all Nayoung murmurs, leaning closer to take a better look at the pictures. Minkyung ignores how Nayoung has to bend down instead of tiptoe to reach her height level of the camera, her breath and Minkyung’s almost mixing together. A slender hand reaches up to press the arrow buttons, slowly grazing through the entire album. Minkyung’s breath had caught the moment Nayoung had leant in; and it wasn’t until the second last picture then did she remember to breathe because, _gosh, Minkyung your lungs are screaming._

She breathes, and realises that Nayoung smells like vanilla. _God._

“I like this one,” Nayoung says lowly, pointing to a picture of the graffiti wall against the expanse of the sky behind. Minkyung likes that one too; as expected, it’s the most artistic one. 

“I like that one too,” Minkyung meant to say, but it came out as some gibberish.

Nayoung laughs, leaning back. Minkyung is close enough to see her dimples go deeper and her neat row of teeth below her lips.

“Um—”

“So—”

They start off at the same time, and Nayoung quietens, gesturing for Minkyung to start first. Minkyung _tried_ to do the same, she really did, but she ended up pointing at Nayoung and not being able to say anything else.

“Right, so, how’re your opening hours?” 

“Oh.” Nayoung blinks, “I open till 10pm on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays.”

Minkyung nods. “Your question?” 

“It’s nothing,” Nayoung shakes her head, a little self-consciously, “I just wanted to ask for your name.” 

Minkyung breaks out into a grin, her eyes becoming pretty half-moons. “I’m Minkyung.” 

It’s normal, the things they talk about, but Minkyung doesn’t feel the same when she’s talking to her. 

“Can I see your sketches today? I want to buy one.” Minkyung asks.

“You don’t have to,” Nayoung whispers, “you know?” 

“I do,” Minkyung assures, “but I buy art. _Really._ And it’s yours. Of course this isn’t an exception.”

Nayoung nods. She brings her to a few sketches, the wintery one, a few still-life ones, many other scenic ones, and one of a starry night. Not Vincent Van Gogh, but still pretty damn amazing. Minkyung buys the starry night sketch, even if it burns a hole in her pocket. She learns that art is expensive—no, she does not usually buy art. 

—

Minkyung drops by the next day as well—it’s a Wednesday. She drops by at nine, after her pictures for another project have been printed and soaked in the darkroom at her university. They dried on the pegs just past eight, and it had taken about half an hour back to her neighbourhood.

When Minkyung arrived, in her suspenders and white shirt, hair tied back into a high ponytail, there were about five customers inside the shop, inspecting paintings. Nayoung was explaining one of her art pieces to someone, so Minkyung walked around the shop, trying to mirror the precision these art collectors cared about. Not too successful.

Minkyung wounded up staring at one of the more colourful pieces of a horse outside a palace. The colours were royal, there was a certain type of class to the painting. It wasn’t cheap. 

Finally, after the last few customers left, Nayoung walked over to where Minkyung was still staring, mesmerised, at the painting.

“The Trevi Fountain,” Nayoung’s voice is quiet, but Minkyung gets shocked, "in Rome." 

Minkyung blinks, before  _oh_ —she's been there before, too. She has some old photographs back in her house, tucked away deep in photo albums. No wonder she had felt like she'd  _known_ the painting somehow; maybe she just wasn't sure if that was what good paintings did to you. Made you feel like you knew them, like they were hidden somewhere beneath your bones without you knowing. Good art makes you feel. 

When Minkyung brought herself back to the present and locked eyes with Nayoung, Nayoung was glowing, her left dimple creasing deep. Minkyung smiles.

Nayoung moves away to turn the sign to a close, before switching off a few lights in the main room. “Let’s go to the back,” Nayoung says, and Minkyung tries to swallow her heart back to her throat to where it belongs. She tags along behind Nayoung to the back room, sitting down awkwardly on the couch beside Nayoung.

Then she remembered her bag. _Oh, yeah._ Why was she always forgetting things when she was here? 

“I brought some pictures.” Minkyung ventures, “See.” 

The baby blue couch is soft under them. Nayoung scoots closer to Minkyung, pushing away the blankets onto the pull-out bed. She watches as Minkyung spreads out the pictures between her fingers. They were pictures of a festival in Seoul Minkyung had gone to just last week, pictures for a magazine, and pictures for some other client. The colours were bright and colourful, colliding in the kaleidoscope of a scene that came alive. It wasn't just a picture, it was the people, the atmosphere. 

Nayoung shifts, taking the pictures to look at them individually. "These are really good, you know." Minkyung smiles, unable to hide how happy that comment made her. 

They looked through the pictures a little more, Nayoung taking it in silently whilst Minkyung drums her fingers on the couch, trying not to realise how dark the room actually is and how Nayoung’s radiancy seems to have been amplified in the dusk. Nayoung finishes looking through the last photography film, blinking—once, twice, before she smiles. Minkyung keeps the pictures back into her envelope and sits up. 

“So, let’s play 20 Questions.” 

“ _Mmmh,_ fine.” Nayoung leans back as well, closing her eyes. Fatigue sets in.

“First—”

Minkyung opens her own eyes to the sounds of light snoring. She laughs, a little softly, when she sees Nayoung with her breathing relaxed, eyelashes fluttering. Minkyung has never gotten the significance of watching someone sleep, but right in this moment, she does.

Nayoung’s breathing is even and calm, sort of rhythmic. Minkyung feels her heart beat in tandem with Nayoung’s. Do pulses usually align? 

Minkyung spends an hour or two finding some books and flipping through them, speed-reading the content. She decides to borrow two books, resting them on her lap until she checks her phone and _holy shit, what, it’s midnight_? 

She gently shakes Nayoung awake, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face.

“Hm?” Nayoung’s eyes flutter open, and Minkyung’s breath catches.

“It’s midnight. Lock the door before you sleep again, okay?” Minkyung grins, “And lend me these two books, would you?” She raises two paperback novels.

Nayoung nods, tiredly, before standing up and staggering a little. Minkyung steadies her, grabbing the keys from the shelf nearby. “Lock.” Minkyung directs, bringing Nayoung to the glass doors. Nayoung tries to wave goodbye, but her eyes are closing again. Minkyung smiles, stepping out into the slightly chilly air.

—

Minkyung walks by the art shop on Sunday, the day it’s supposed to be closed.

The weather is hotter today, more of summer than fall. Funny how the leaves are starting to turn orangey at the tips but the sun is still blasphemous in its intensity. Minkyung turns the corner, remembers the first day she saw the art shop.

The light inside is on.

Minkyung feels her feet halt against the asphalt.  _You have errands to run, Minkyung, you have to deposit your money in the bank, collect your parcel from the post office, meet Yebin for lunch, get your phone fixed—Minkyung, you have errands to run._

Minkyung opens the glass doors.

—

Nayoung was _painting._ Im Nayoung was _painting._

Nayoung was seated in front of an easel in the far corner of the main room, low-cut sneakers tapping against the wooden floor as her wrist moves skilfully over the canvas. Deep red coats plain white, green flecks below the blends of bloodred and whitish grey. 

Nayoung isn’t in her uniform today—she wears a black tank and Adidas shorts, _home wear,_ hair down around her shoulders and bangs messy across her forehead. When Minkyung enters, Nayoung reaches up to brush her bangs back with her forearm.

“Sorry, we’re closed t—Minkyung?” 

Minkyung scratches the back of her neck, “Thought I’d stop by for awhile. I saw the light on, and I’m on my way to town anyway. It’s near here.”

Nayoung sets the palette down, and Minkyung starts waving her hands frantically. “No, don’t stop painting. Don’t stop painting. It’s—it’s…” Minkyung can’t stop the words that are tumbling out of her mouth and rolling off her tongue, making Nayoung slightly confused, “—attractive. It’s attractive.” 

Nayoung laughs, a little disbelievingly, as she picks the palette back up, dipping the brush in water. Acrylic paint coats the palette, mixing red and back to form a slightly darker maroon, shading the bottom of the rose petal. 

Minkyung sits down on the floor beside Nayoung, eyes pinned on the way Nayoung moves her hands and mixes the colours. It’s like she knows exactly how much of white that shade of whitish grey needs; like she knows exactly how red she wants the rose to be. It’s fascinating, and Minkyung watches her lips purse in concentration and her eyes focus and re-focus. 

Nayoung waits for a little while, watching as Minkyung makes herself comfortable, leaning against one of the sturdier shelves behind her.  Then she grins.  “Sorry, remember when you wanted to play 20 Questions? I sort of fell asleep.” 

Minkyung pipes up, checks the time. Yebin can take a few late days. Minkyung might be facing derisive remarks about how  _oh my god, Minkyung, you ditched me for another pretty girl?_ and the slight strain on her heels in the midst of a café as she tiptoes to get away from Yebin’s wrath in a few hours—but yeah, Yebin can take a few late days. 

“Yeah,” Minkyung laughs, “what do you like?" 

Nayoung sighs, drying the brush on the sponge. She washes the red off her brush and picks up another with a smaller tip. “Art. Silence." 

“I like photography and quiet, not quite silence,” Minkyung taps her fingers against the wood, “we practically have the same preferences." 

Nayoung _does_ roll her eyes this time, and Minkyung sees another side of her. She chuckles, watches as the sunlight casts a glow just right on Nayoung’s features. Minkyung falls in love all over again. 

It’s Minkyung’s turn. 

“Are you dating?" 

Nayoung blends the brown into the background, trying not to be distracted. It’s hard. The words find themselves to the tip of her tongue, “No.” There’s a hesitant pause, and before Nayoung can even think straight—“you?” 

“No,” Minkyung shakes her head, and she swears there’s something weird in the air.  Like tension. She doesn’t know.

Nayoung grabs the canvas and sets it to the side to dry, joining Minkyung on the floor. Her hands are coated in a million colours and her eyes are a bright brown, reflecting the sunlight in them. Minkyung can see where her irises and pupils separate, it’s a breathtaking sight.

“Let me buy you a coffee?” Minkyung grins playfully, as if she well knows that she’s _asking Im Nayoung out._ Nayoung almost rolls her eyes again—Minkyung knows it’s a habit of hers by now—, reaching up to brush loose strands of maroon out of her eyes. Minkyung sees red on Nayoung’s index finger; white on her middle; orange on her fourth, and jumbled mixes of iridescent acrylic on the fair skin of her palm. 

Nayoung looks to the side as if she’s actually contemplating the idea; Minkyung tells her heart to quieten down, for god's sake _—_ before Nayoung raises her eyes to Minkyung’s.

“I only drink Americanos.” 

—

Minkyung gets used to taking long walks in the middle of the night along the same stretch between her house and the art shop, gets used to Nayoung insisting on walking her back even if it's near dawn and the both of them can see the first signs of daybreak in the sky, gets used to spending her nights and Sundays sitting on the hardwood linoleum floor, surrounded by the sounds of brushing against the palette and brushes within coloured water, a quiet harmony that gives the type of silence which allows Minkyung to wear her heart on her sleeve, if only just for a few hours. 

Minkyung gets used to being overwhelmed by vanilla and soft hands; she gets used to feeling the world slip away when her eyes flutter close; gets used to the slight buzz in her fingertips and the reeling of her mind, just like the colours on Nayoung's canvases. 

It’s indescribable, but _hell_ is it beautiful.

—  


 


End file.
